


Powerless

by orphan_account



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Bondage, Desk Sex, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, F/M, Gritty, Introspection, Lap Sex, Messy Feelings, Obsession, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Public Sex, Roleplay, Self-Loathing, Sexual Bloodbending, Sexual Tension, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-20 09:00:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12429462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Tarrlok witnesses Korra's transformation during the course of the Equalist threat, during which they come to an agreement, one that's mutually beneficial—or so they’ll fool themselves into believing.(Or—Korra, who possesses an incredibly deviant and voracious sexual appetite, fears commitment because she knows that her taste in men is terrible. Tarrlok, who hates himself, thinks he's in love with her. They struggle to meet somewhere in the middle.)





	1. Bathed in Moonlight

> _“Oh… indulge me,”_ he breathed, sliding his hands up her clothed calves. When he reached her knees, he pushed at them, parting her thighs further and leaning forward into her space. _“Tell me how I can fulfill your desires, Avatar.”_

     A soft, exhausted sigh escaped Tarrlok’s lips. He peered blearily down at the work scattered across his desk, dimly illuminated by the small lamp that sat nearby. The words went in and out of focus before his gaze, and he squeezed his eyelids shut, pressing his fingers into them.

     He was working late into the night again, and his assistant and fellow council members had gone home hours ago. The nighttime was the only time he could take care of his business dealings without the annoyance of intrusions. He could sense his visitors’ presences long before they arrived at his office door, but it was still tedious having to drop his work into a drawer and hide it away from sight again and again. His mind needed time to work without interruption, analyzing exactly what needed to be said, how it needed to be worded, and how it could possibly come back to cause him problems. He was a very careful man—except, apparently, when it came to _her_.

     At the steady heartbeat entering his range of awareness, Tarrlok’s head snapped up, and his hunched posture straightened. Out of habit, he reached for his incriminating documents, as if to brush them together in a neat pile. His hands stilled, bent tersely over the papers, and he stared unblinkingly down at them.

     Korra was always cautious when she entered his office—for good reason, they both knew. He heard her turn the doorknob after briefly lingering outside in the hall. A small breath escaped her, and his sharp ears picked up on it. He monitored her circulatory system with intense concentration, searching for subtle clues as to her mood.

     “Councilman,” she greeted. The formality was something that she insisted upon.

     “Avatar,” he returned, his eyes finally flicking up to meet hers. He didn’t care for the formality, but he obeyed her simple request.

     She wasn’t wearing her parka tonight, he noted. It was getting cold outside, especially during the night, but she came without it. But he supposed her firebending abilities countered that nicely.

     It seemed that an eternity had passed between them, with her standing at his door, which she had snapped shut, and him seated rigidly behind his desk. They silently regarded each other.

     He was finally the one to shift, uncomfortable under her intense scrutiny, and his chair gave the tiniest creak. His hands lowered on top of his papers, and he decided to leave them where they were. It was just the Avatar, so he knew that he didn’t need to bother hiding them. And, admittedly, his lack of sleep and his stress were making him feel rather lazy.

     Korra’s steps brought her closer to his desk. She leaned against it and crossed her arms. “I thought I’d find you here.”

     “I have a lot of work to do,” he responded softly. He reached for his discarded pen, which rested near Korra’s hip, seemingly dismissing her.

     At his words, her gaze hardened, and she critically swept it over the paperwork. She grabbed the pen he’d been in the midst of retrieving and whipped it over her shoulder, a small smirk twisting her lips at the resulting twinge of annoyance in Tarrlok’s countenance.

     Then, immediately after, her demeanor shifted, and she abruptly lashed out, flinging the neat papers from the surface of Tarrlok’s desk, scattering them. They showered noisily to the floor below them. It was a wonder she hadn’t sent the lamp and other desk trinkets crashing to the ground, but they both knew she wouldn’t have cared if she had. He had more than enough money to afford replacements.

     Tarrlok bit down on the inside of his cheek, and his brow furrowed. “Such disrespect,” he forced out as calmly as he could muster, despite his disapproval.

     “Your _work_ ,” she enunciated, heavily sarcastic. “Yeah, _that’s_ why you’re here tonight.”

     Was she offended? He pondered her tone and the sporadic clenching of her jaw. He decided to push her a bit more to be sure. “Of course. It’s the highlight of my evening—the solitude, the silence. I’m able to think more clearly when people don’t bother me with their inane problems.”

     Korra was absolutely horrible at hiding her emotions, with or without his ability to feel her heartbeat. Her lips curled into a scowl, and she glared at him. Her hands landed atop the surface of his polished desk forcibly, as if to intimidate.

     He narrowed his eyes at her hostility.

     “Maybe I should leave,” she whispered angrily. “Would you prefer that? I’d hate to disturb you with my _inane_ problems.”

     She knew him entirely too well—where it counted; her threat had him stumbling back on the defense. He lowered his gaze. “No, I’d prefer you stay.”

     “Should’ve thought about that before insulting me.” She pushed away and turned on her heel. A pause. “And lying, of course. You know I don’t like that.”

     Tarrlok immediately stood from his chair, like an obedient pet about to bound after his mistress. “I apologize. I was merely teasing.”

     She cocked her hip and glanced back at him, her brow still furrowed with her anger. “Then beg me to stay,” she flippantly threw at him.

     He eyed her in blatant disbelief. “…You must be joking. I—Avatar, I was _teasing_ you.”

     She scoffed and turned to leave.

     Tarrlok watched her go with a creeping of panic. Would she really leave him? After staying in his office until the morning light crept through the blinds of his windows for every day that week, often falling asleep on his desk while waiting for her, he knew his troubles would be for naught if the Avatar left now. He was pathetically weak when it came to resisting her. _Who’s the real bloodbender?_ he mused, when he found his lips moving of their own accord. “ _Please_ ,” burst from his throat with a hint of desperation. “Please stay.”

     He felt her heart dance triumphantly in her chest, betraying her excitement, and she turned back around with a smug smirk upon her lips. She absolutely preened over his submission. As humiliating as it was to beg a seventeen-year-old girl, Avatar or not, his pride was a small price to pay, he always found.

     Korra thoroughly enjoyed the build-up, the pretending. She loved games, and she loved even more to win. So he let her win again and again to keep her coming back to play.

     Sensing that he had appeased her, he sank back down. He had just reclaimed his former position in his chair when she flew forward, clumsily clamoring atop his desk and finally knocking the lamp and nameplate to the floor. The lamp shattered, throwing them into darkness, with only the moonlight streaming softly through his shaded windows providing enough light to see what they were doing.

     Tarrlok never knew what to expect from the Avatar, but it was part of the thrill to find out what her intentions were. Truthfully, he would let her do whatever she wanted as long—as it didn’t involve ruining his life.

     Korra perched on the edge of the desk, her thighs spread enticingly. She towered over him, and her eyes sparkled in the moonlight as she studied his features. She was still radiating smugness, loving the way his attention was centered entirely on her. “Miss me?”

     His pulse began to race at the seductive edge to her tone. Anticipation hummed vibrantly through his veins, setting fire to his blood. His breath caught in his throat, and he softly cleared it before uttering, “Always.”

     She grinned at him, never reading into any possible depth to his response, and lifted a leg, presenting her booted foot to him. She reclined, falling back on her palms and watching him with half-lidded eyes.

     He marveled at her cool confidence as he took her boot gingerly into his hands and untied the laces. She didn’t even flinch when he took it off, letting it drop to the floor, baring her skin to him. True, it was only her foot, but he could still recall the first of their encounters after she had arrived in Republic City; he couldn’t even touch her laces without her lashing out at him.

     Tarrlok's fingers idly trailed over the arch of her foot, pressing into what he knew as tender areas, and he glanced up at the Avatar, whose eyes were carefully trained on him. Despite the bravado she hid behind, he knew she was still tense. He felt compelled to fill the silence that had descended upon them. “I was wondering when you would grace me with your presence.”

     She tilted her chin up. “It’s better to make you wait, or you won’t appreciate it as much.”

     He chuckled at her cheeky response. “May I?” he inquired politely, indicating her other boot. At her nod, he undid the laces, releasing her other foot from its confines. “Did you approve of my gifts? I assume you’ve received them.”

     Barely glancing at him, Korra reached down and grasped at the ties that held her fur-lined wrap around her hips. The wrap draped over the surface of the desk behind her when she finally pulled the knot free.

     “You’re senile, old man, if you think you can buy my favor with that flashy stuff. Sure, it’s somewhat flattering that you’re trying so hard, but my airbending…” She pulled a face that suggested she didn’t entirely agree and that she was mimicking her airbending master, Tenzin, when she continued, “I have other things to focus on than chasing Equalists.”

     He had paused in mid-massage, frowning tersely at her. “Senile? … _Old man?_ I should punish you for that.”

     “Is that a promise?” She flashed a flirtatious grin.

     Realizing their conversation was drifting into darker territory, Tarrlok shook her teasing insults aside so he could mentally switch gears. He curled his hands around her ankles, offering an alluring smile. “Only if you ask for it. Now, is there anything in particular you have in mind tonight?”

     “I could think of a few things…” she trailed off suggestively. There was a coy tilt to her lips.

     “Oh… indulge me,” he breathed, sliding his hands up her clothed calves. When he reached her knees, he pushed at them, parting her thighs further and leaning forward into her space. “Tell me how I can fulfill your desires, Avatar.”

     She bent down, hovering inches away from his lips. When she spoke to him, the soft skin gently brushed his, toying with his self-restraint. Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks as she hesitated in answering. “…I want it rough. _From behind_.”

     He inhaled sharply, her words bringing delicious mental images to his mind that eased him into arousal. A wave of heat simmered within him, sending a slight tremor through his body. He closed the meager distance, angling his face so he could press their lips together. Shifting restlessly in his chair and curling a controlling hand over her jaw, he nipped at her lower lip to prompt her into action.

     Korra’s lips parted, and she made a small noise at the back of her throat when Tarrlok accepted the invitation, his tongue darting inside her mouth. She wrapped her lips around the slick muscle, suckling erotically, bringing a rumble of approval from the councilman’s throat. Their lips slid together, wet with saliva and pressing into desperate kisses, their tongues curling together. They stole quick gasps of air in between kisses, connecting again and again.

     Finally, the tightening in their lungs forced them apart, and they took in greedy gulps of air, their chests heaving. A string of saliva provided a sultry, lingering connection between them. Tarrlok raised a hand and swiped his thumb over the Avatar’s glistening lips, licking his own distractedly.

     “The desk or the wall?” he asked huskily, his free hand wandering up her thigh to the waistband of her pants. He hooked his fingers under the fabric and stroked her warm flesh.

     “Surprise me,” she ordered, breathless.

     Tarrlok very much enjoyed when she gave him control. Nothing turned him on more than dominating her, bringing her such pleasure that she couldn’t help but voice her ecstasy. He stood, kicking his chair back. As for the location, he already knew what he was in the mood for—what his fatigued body could handle. He lifted the young woman from her perch, allowing her feet to touch the floor when he lowered her.

     She had barely regained her balance before he was spinning her around to face the desk and slamming her down on top of it—if not for her turning her face in time, her nose would have become intimate with the wood—and pinning her wrists with his hands. He arched his hips into her backside, his large form completely covering her slighter frame. He felt her strain against his unrelenting hold, testing his strength.

     “How rough do you want it?” he purred darkly. He squeezed at her wrists, leaving blossoming bruises beneath his splayed fingers.

     A shuddering gasp was ripped from her throat when he rolled his hips against her, digging his cock into her. He was everywhere, his body erotically draped over hers, and she hardly noticed the edge of his desk biting into her hipbones. His gentle scent wafted over her senses, now undeniably familiar to her. She couldn’t bite her moan back when he wedged a knee between her thighs.

     “Mmm?” he prompted throatily, taking both of her wrists into one hand and twisting them behind her back. His free hand grasped her pants and undergarments and ripped them down her hips, freeing her dark skin.

     She released a long breath, unable to form completely coherent thoughts through the haze settling over her mind. She pleadingly pushed back against him, for it was all she could do while so thoroughly pinned. She knew it communicated well enough what she wanted. “Am—ah… Councilman…”

     There was a sudden jolt in her chest that he was quick to disregard as anticipation. As always, the continued formality had him pausing, biting down on his lip in conflict. He didn’t dare to voice his desire to hear his name grace her sweet, full lips because he already knew how she would react. He shook it from his mind, and his uneasiness dissipated when he unbuttoned his own trousers. Grasping himself firmly, teasing the hard, velvety flesh in his hand, he studied the Avatar’s profile from under his lowered lashes.

     “You’ll get nothing until I hear a suitable answer, Avatar,” he said. The illusion of cold indifference always seemed to effectively arouse her lately. It seemed like an odd desire, but, nonetheless, he participated in her harmless fantasy.

     “ _Rough!_ ” she snapped. She trembled below him, squirming against the liquid heat that pooled in her lower body and licked at her sensitive nerve endings. She ached painfully for him, and the throbbing pounded rhythmically through her like the beat of a drum. “Spirits… just _take_ me!”

     Knowing she was growing impatient, he pressed forward, guiding himself along her folds that were slick with her arousal. He growled, pleased, at the way her body accepted him, stretching languidly to willingly accommodate his cock when he finally pressed against her entrance. They gasped out in simultaneous relief when he became enveloped in her heat, dragging sensually along her clenching walls.

     He had been the first to become intimate with her and, as far as he knew—oh, how he _hoped_ —continued to be the only one. Possessiveness predominantly drove his actions, curling him over her luscious posterior and rocking his hips against her in sharp, deep plunges.

     Her pleasure belonged to him, and she could only take everything he gave to her. She was _his_ , and she needed only him to satisfy her urges. This mantra pushed him to thoroughly take care of her every time to hopefully leave a lasting imprint on her mind.

     “H-harder!” she demanded, a gasping moan punctuating her words when he complied, snapping his hips forward roughly and burying himself completely within her with a grunt of effort. “Harder, you despicable bloodbender—I know you can!”

     The words were spoken without malice, a mere taunt to challenge him and spur him into proving himself a capable, receptive lover. Her acceptance of his dark bending never failed to astound him; when she first found out about it, she hadn’t once thought about turning him over to the police. He often wondered if it was the reason she'd initially approached him—her lust for what he was capable of. However, it was difficult to say; as well as he knew her body, he knew next to nothing about her mind and also knew he wasn’t allowed to ask. It was part of the sinful deal that existed between them.

     “You're in no position to make… _mm_ … m-make such rude demands…” His tone held a degree of falsified iciness to it that served only to heighten the experience for the young woman beneath him, but he could hardly contain himself when he had to break off in mid-speech to stifle a moan behind his gritted teeth. The way she tightened around him so snugly and eagerly met his thrusts as if she couldn’t get enough of him was simply otherworldly.

     Her wrists were abruptly abandoned when he took ahold of her quivering thighs with both hands, spreading her apart while her knees remained locked together within the bundle of her clothing bunched up around them. He dug his fingers into her curvy frame, the malleable skin giving under his neatly trimmed nails, but he didn’t dare make her bleed. His soft groans were easily overshadowed by Korra’s erotic gasps and cries of, “ _Spirits!_ ” and “ _Councilman!_ ” that filled the room.

     Tarrlok also enjoyed the roughness of their coupling, of course, but there were several things that dampened his mood the slightest bit: the insisted formalities that struck him as incredibly ridiculous while he was deep inside of her; only allowing him to have her while she couldn’t see him; and remaining almost fully clothed.

     Was his name so abhorrent that she found nothing arousing about calling it out? No… that wasn’t it. She wanted to pretend he was someone else, possibly through a fantasy playing out behind her eyelids. Who that was he could not say, but, obviously, it was someone she dared not approach in the same manner. The thought seared his entire being with simultaneous poisonous jealousy and sick relief.

     He was aware that the Avatar was using him—it was too obvious. It hurt deeply, but he could never deny her what she wanted from him. After all, if not him, would she not seek someone else for it? He couldn’t allow it.

     Oftentimes, he lost himself in her moist heat, her scent that drifted tantalizingly up to him, and the delectable noises that escaped her when he pleasured her. It was easy to push his negative thoughts aside when Korra decided to seek him out, but they never truly left him. When Korra took what she wanted and departed, leaving him to his own tortured mind, nausea and self-loathing gripped him.

     Tarrlok had come to the realization that he was in love— _obsessed_ , a tiny part of him corrected in a nasty hiss—with the Avatar, and he wanted more from her than just her willing body; he wanted her mind, heart, and soul, as well. To him, she was already his, but only by presenting her with a betrothal necklace and claiming her as his wife would she be his in reality. How he tortured himself with that particular fantasy, so ironically tame in comparison to everything else he envisioned when Korra came to his mind.

     Did she know how he felt about her? He suspected so because of the callousness of her treatment of him. Perhaps she believed that if she caused him such hurt, his love for her would eventually fade, and he would treat the encounters more like what they actually were: a simple, mutual release of stress and frustration. But, to him, there was nothing simple about the powerful energy that crackled between them.

     She expressed no desire to know anything about him: his tragic past, his true goals and aspirations, or even how his day had been. She focused on the superficial—well, superficial to her and only her—things and believed that she understood him perfectly.

     Bloodbender and corrupt politician, she casually pegged him. How utterly, blandly one-dimensional and, frankly, insulting. But it was unavoidable; she knew of his shady dealings with the bending gangs of the city and had already thoroughly articulated her disgust and outrage several times. In her mind, he was easy to dismiss as a self-serving villain. A ridiculously attractive one that she often sought guilt-free intimacy from—but a self-serving villain, nonetheless.

     Korra stiffened below him and let out a tortured, nonsensical cry as her orgasm suddenly overtook her, _hard_ , breaking over her and seizing her body in its hold, scattering her already jumbled thoughts. She clenched tightly around him, contracting with each delicious pulse that drowned her as she clung to and rode out the last vestiges of her climax as if it were a piece of driftwood fluttering in the crash of a mighty tsunami. Her fingers scrabbled for a solid hold on the smooth surface of the desk.

     Watching her struggle to regain her bearings was always a treat, for it was he who pleasured the mighty Avatar to the point where she could hardly stand on her feet. Her knees always trembled so violently that, if she tried to stand before she had recovered, she would drop to the floor.

     Not that he would allow her to fall, of course. He always caught her and held her trembling form against his, finding temporary, sick happiness in the fact that she was too weak to force him away. Having her curled against his chest and her hands fisted in his clothing, relying on his strength, was all that he wished for in the world when he returned home and was greeted with the silent emptiness. Surely, he was a masochist for finding any amount of solace in the pretense of something more existing between them.

     He slowed his pace, shallowly and mindlessly thrusting into her while his eyes were fixated on the almost pained twist of her features. She was indisputably the most beautiful sight he had ever laid his eyes on, and he was honored to be able to witness her rapture and even more so to be the one to escort her there. Her gratification was his, and he savored the feeling of her tense muscles relaxing comfortably around his rigid cock. He hardly realized when his steady movements ceased, leaving him buried within her silky heat. He simply just enjoyed the sight laid out before him like an offering.

     When Tarrlok’s long hair tickled her, Korra’s eyelids lifted, and she glanced at him as he hovered over and studied her intensely. With a grumble, she lifted an arm and threw it over her face self-consciously. “Do you _have_ to stare at me like that?” she demanded irritably, though not overly so because she was lazy with relaxation.

     “I apologize,” he murmured. His normally high baritone was husky with his lingering arousal and exertion. He reluctantly averted his eyes to his hands as trailed his fingertips up and down her bare skin, bringing gooseflesh to the surface with how lightly he touched her. He kept his reverent thoughts about her beauty to himself because it was too far into territory she had no intention of journeying into with him.

     “Are…” she awkwardly trailed off, shifting beneath him and letting her arm drop back down to the desk, “…are you going to…?”

     A breathy chuckle escaped him at the way she couldn’t articulate herself properly. He made no motion to continue, though his interest hadn’t yet waned. He was still painfully hard, as was obvious to the both of them. “Not yet satisfied, Avatar?”

     “Never,” she shot back with a lopsided grin. “But you didn’t… You haven’t…”

     “I didn’t what?”

     Her grin slid from her lips. She mumbled something incoherently.

     Korra could be so mind-numbingly seductive in one breath and inexplicably, adorably bashful in the very next. It was rather intoxicating. He marveled at the contrast.

     “You’re still _hard_.”

     “Oh, yes,” he purred. He rutted against her once, relishing the surprised whimper that escaped her. _Spirits_ , she was so very wet from her orgasm. The motion had been so fluid and silky that he couldn’t resist doing it again. Perfect, _too_ perfect. He never wanted to leave her body. He leaned down to her neck, his breath escaping his lips in short pants that stirred some of the hair that freed itself from her ties. It was a chore to even form his next sentence, which he murmured against her skin, “Avatar… have I convinced you to join my task force yet?”

     Her eyes, which had slid closed in pleasure, popped open in utter disbelief. She glanced at him when he leaned back, watching as he licked his thumb and briefly popped it into his mouth. “You’re trying to recruit me… now?”

     “Of course.” He reached between her body and his desk and slid the pad of his saliva-soaked thumb over the hooded, sensitive spot that would give him the reaction he was seeking. Predictably, she jolted beneath him at the first brush of her clitoris. “You’ve refused all other forms of persuasion, and this is all I have left.”

     The casual circles he rubbed into her quivering flesh and the slow, long, slick thrusts he treated her with… she was helpless against it and felt her interest flutter and revive anew. The noises of their coupling were so lewd and arousing, they both agreed wholeheartedly.

     “Fine,” she groaned absentmindedly. “Just don’t stop, _please_.”

     Tarrlok smirked faintly. He must have performed exceptionally well that night. She never begged him.


	2. Draped in Splendor

> _“Someone’s coming,”_ Tarrlok hissed in explanation. Leaving her against the door, he moved away and suddenly laughed. _“And, regretfully, it’s not me.”_

_He did this for me_.

     Korra’s eyes widened as she beheld her surroundings, that of the lavish gala thrown entirely in her honor. Even if it was vastly overdone and an obvious ploy to manipulate her into pledging her allegiance to Tarrlok—for the benefit of the public, she knew; she had already joined his task force after he thoroughly bent her over his desk—the tiniest bit of awe guided her gaze as it roved over the musicians, the exquisitely dressed guests, and tables overflowing with food and beverages from every nation. Partygoers shifted around her, greeting her, which she absentmindedly returned amidst her appreciative survey.

     To the people of Republic City, the event was perceived as a way to boast his persuasion and wealth; even though Tarrlok had social elites at his beck and call, it was his own yuans that paid for the gala. To Korra, it was a masquerade, and he was the enigmatic heart—within him existed complexities strong enough to shake her resolve and twist her perception of him entirely, if she ever allowed them to take their tryst further than just sex.

     His bloodbending wasn’t what kept her beyond arm’s length. Even though her waterbending master, Katara, had spared no disgust for the art, lecturing about how it turned its users into ruthless monsters, Korra couldn’t muster the hate for it simply on principle. If anything, her defense for benders was being strengthened during the course of the hateful Equalist movement.

     Bloodbender or not, Tarrlok was a blatant criminal, unrepentant and oozing self-satisfaction, a silver-tongued weasel snake with the power to declare siege on the city with only his words and confidence—and perhaps a few yuans as reinforcements. He possessed the talent and potential to change the world but chose to waste it all on materialistic pursuits. Such abuse of power truly disgusted her.

     But, when they were alone, all of that swagger and snobbery fell away, leaving a man utterly transfixed on her, his sharp words softened with reverence. To him, she became a priceless treasure, something no one else in the world had. Such a transformation contradicted what she had built him up as in her mind, as if he were a completely different person, but something more existing between them wasn’t something she wanted to dwell on because there was no future for them. What was viewed as a timeless tradition of the Water Tribe was scandalous and against the law in Republic City. She didn’t love him—he was a conquest.

     Whether her past Avatar incarnations were to blame or not, she was an unquenchable thrill seeker with alarmingly kinky interests, and nothing was more thrilling than the dark, the unknown, the unconquered. Having a powerful man who possessed the ability to control others at will on his knees for her gave her such a rush. He would do anything for her pleasure, and the thought often sent shivers down her spine and set her mind ablaze with wicked thoughts.

 _The only way it’d be better is if it were Amon in his place_. Untouchable, as elusive to her as airbending, and possessing the ability to permanently destroy bending, Amon was the most chilling and powerful person she’d ever encountered, and she found herself both terrified and fascinated by his omnipotence. Mysterious, cruel, and dominant— _delicious_. If only they could shed their titles for one night so she could have a taste. His deep baritone, rather like a black ribbon of silk that sashayed over her senses in a dark caress, never failed to spark sexual hunger in her abdomen. She often obsessed about what he looked like under his mask, but, somehow, it was better that the mystery leave her always wanting.

     Would one night with him even manage to satisfy her hunger? She doubted it. Between Tarrlok and Amon, never could she have imagined, growing up in her cage in the South Pole, that Republic City held such temptations.

 _How easily my mind wanders_ , she mused, refocusing on the present. Her eyes lit up when she noticed Mako and Bolin approaching, but she was rendered speechless by Mako’s dark-haired date.

     Korra was introduced to Asami Sato and her father, but she listened with only one ear, chewing on the inside of her cheek. With her head turned to the side, she pretended to people-watch while fighting against her rising jealousy. She had no claim over Mako other than her very tentative feelings, but his decision to flaunt such a blatantly attractive young woman was… hurtful. So what if she didn’t have slender curves or dark waves of hair that curled over her shoulders? She self-consciously adjusted her own dress in the presence of Asami’s classic beauty.

     “Avatar Korra.”

     At the familiar voice, Korra cast an appraising glance over her shoulder. Tarrlok, dressed in a Water Tribe tuxedo, was smiling down at her. His appearance was immaculate, as always, with his hair neatly tied back. His countenance betrayed nothing; to any observer, it appeared that Tarrlok was being a friendly host.

     “Councilman Tarrlok.”

     His smile faded the slightest bit at the stoicness of the greeting, but he remained pleasant as he turned to her friends. “May I steal the Avatar away from you momentarily?”

     At the unvoiced consent—the way Mako and Asami were immersed in conversation with Hiroshi Sato, how Bolin was busy chortling at Meelo being scolded by Tenzin for attempting to use a punch bowl as a toilet—Tarrlok was free to place a hand on Korra’s back and encourage her to match his stride.

     “Is something troubling you?” he asked while leading her away. “The gala isn’t to your liking?”

     “It’s not the gala,” she replied shortly. Her brooding over how well Mako and Asami went together as a couple seemed both silly and inappropriate, so she kept it locked away inside.

     “Hm. Well, how about a change of scenery for a while? I’d be honored to get your feedback on what’s been running through my mind.” Without waiting for a response, he retrieved two flutes of pale, fizzy beverage and led her through the crowd.

     Along the way, he made a point to stop and shake the hands of his guests, who praised him with gusto for the wonderful evening. He radiated charisma, clearly in his element with powerful people fawning over him.

     “Isn’t she too young?”

     Korra visibly startled at the question; her head had turned away in disinterest. To her relief, the question was directed at the two glasses precariously balanced in one of Tarrlok’s hands.

     “Indeed, she is. I wouldn’t dream of coercing her to break the law. These,” Tarrlok switched one of the glasses to his other hand and took a sip, “are for me.”

     They laughed politely, apparently at a joke Korra couldn’t understand.

     “I’m sorry for the abrupt departure, but I need to speak to the Avatar about task force matters. Please enjoy yourselves.”

     Korra held her silence until they had left the vicinity of the grand hall. “Isn’t the age of consent in Republic City eighteen years old?”

     “You’re correct,” he said, nonchalant, while they ascended a set of stairs and continued down a dim hallway. He paused near his office door and turned to her, handing one of the glasses to her. Drinking from his own, he watched Korra sniff at the contents.

     “‘I wouldn’t dream of coercing her to break the law,’” she mimicked, recognizing the sharp tang of alcohol. Tilting her head back, she emptied the glass in seconds and winced at the burn that seared its way down her throat before settling in her stomach.

     Tarrlok held a hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter when she coughed into her fist. “I _wouldn’t_ dream of coercing you because you don’t need it to accept what I give to you.”

     Korra paused in her coughing fit, her skin tingling at the insinuation laced through his words. Wordlessly, she snatched his unfinished drink from him and choked it down.

     The councilman retrieved the empty glasses and set them both on a nearby table, adorned with a vase of fragrant roses and a lamp. With a tug of the lamp string, he threw them into darkness.

     “Mako and Bolin will be looking for me,” she warned. As her eyes strained to adjust to the lack of light, she relied on her other senses to keep track of Tarrlok. Small sounds like shifting cloth and quiet breathing perked her hypersensitive ears.

     “We’ll hurry.” Pushing her back against his assistant’s office door, he chastely kissed her on the brow. “You look stunning tonight.”

     She snorted incredulously. “Yeah, right.”

     “You do,” he insisted. “But, as lovely as the dress is, I’m much more taken with the beautiful woman wearing it.”

     “Seventeen-year-old woman,” she quipped, secretly pleased with his compliment.

     His hands sought hers. “If you’re not consenting, please, by all means, let me know. You only need to tell me, and we will stop, as it has always been between us.”

     “Y’know, this isn’t ‘hurrying.’”

     “You’re right.” His knowing smile was audible in his voice.

     Tarrlok guided her hands down to where his shirt was tucked, wordlessly coaxing her into popping the buttons out of his trousers. Although Tarrlok’s intentions had been clear from the beginning, her pulse still quickened at his audacity—choosing a public place where anyone could stumble upon them. The faint murmur of conversation was ever-present, reminding them that they weren’t safely locked away from prying eyes.

     Releasing her hands, he allowed her to continue undressing him at her leisure. He trailed his lips over her cheek and down to her mouth. Tilting his face, he kissed her and made a soft, pleasured noise at the back of his throat when she wrapped a loose hand around his cock, stroking it. She marveled at how quickly he hardened under her ministrations.

     Tarrlok parted his lips from hers and reached down to gently push her hand away from him. Bending over and gathering the hem of her dress, he dragged the cloth upward, exposing her legs, knees, thighs, and bunching the material at her waist in one hand. He recaptured her hand and wordlessly taught her how to touch him to his liking. While she pumped the velvety skin of his cock, he took her bottom lip into his mouth and sucked on it. His fingers dipped below her undergarments.

     “What if someone…” she trailed off, jolting when he nudged her clitoris.

     Releasing her bottom lip with a wet pop, he whispered, “I’ll know. Just enjoy.”

     At that, she relaxed into the sensations, becoming increasingly distracted with how he flicked her hooded flesh. Throbbing with need, she parted her thighs when he wedged a knee between hers. His middle finger slid down to coax her quivering entrance into stretching around it, and her hand, still grasping his twitching cock, stilled. Her head fell back against the door as the long digit sank inside of her, as his thumb resumed torturing her clitoris, and her chest heaved with her soft panting.

     “So close already? I’ve barely touched you.”

     “How can you tell?” Her hips arched against him encouragingly, prompting him to twist his wrist so he could bury his finger up to his knuckle. Fluid dribbled out of her pussy with his vigorous thrusting.

     “Besides the obvious signs… you can’t hide anything from me.”

     Korra shuddered at both the possessive undertone and how he hotly laved her neck with his tongue. Sagging against the door, she let her hand fall away from his body to clutch at the wood. With each plunge and caress, the pressure in her abdomen mounted, and all thoughts deserted her except for an erotic fantasy brokenly stuttering through her mind. When Tarrlok wrapped an arm around her waist, leaning against her and preemptively lending his support, she accepted it, as her legs had begun to shake and threaten to collapse under her.

     She knew perfectly well why it had taken no effort to bring her to the edge of the precipice, but she couldn’t bring herself to be eloquent, or _daring_ , enough to tell him. Never before had they touched each other with other people so nearby. The thrill of being caught hung over her, exciting her to heightened sensitivity. Also, in her mental fantasy, every stroke of his thumb was a tongue—Tarrlok’s—and his pistoning fingers, as he had added a second and third one, as a rigid cock—Amon’s—burying itself inside of her. In the dark, the possibilities were boundless.

     She was helpless against her lecherous mind torturing her with the thought of the two men pleasuring her at the same time, and she was swiftly brought to trembling completion. She tensed in his arms, loving the way he drew every bit of pleasure out of her release, and she whimpered his name—“ _Tarrlok_ ,” free of formalities—not even realizing she had. The tension in her abdomen uncoiled slowly, leaving her breathless and weak-kneed, foggy with the satisfaction of a fantastic orgasm.

     “I love you _,_ ” came a barely audible admission from the man cradling her between his body and his assistant’s office door. He withdrew his soaked fingers, instead wrapping his arms around her and tucking her under his chin in a tender embrace.

     Korra, still catching her breath from the intensity of her climax, lost every bit of air in her lungs when the words registered. His emotion was raw and sincere, invoking an itch of panic in her. Despite the alcohol swimming in her belly, she could feel the subtle shift of their relationship at his declaration. It hadn’t been a secret between them—his feelings for her—but hearing it voiced for the first time made it an undeniable reality, and she was nowhere near the right state of mind to muster a proper response.

     After a long, awkward stretch of silence, Tarrlok cleared his throat and grasped one of her wrists, bringing her hand back to his erection. “If you wouldn’t mind…”

     Grateful for the familiar distraction, Korra firmly gripped him, sliding up and down the curve of his cock. She focused on working him how he taught her, cupping the tip in her palm with every pass and smearing the pre-cum that leaked from him. She increased her pace, creating delicious friction, as her ears caught the quickening of his breath, knowing it meant that he was getting close to his own orgasm. It was then she remembered that his semen would have to go somewhere—and preferably not on her skin or clothing, as usual, because she had no way of discreetly cleaning herself. “Won’t it make a mess?”

     It took Tarrlok some time to formulate a response. “ _Mm_ … probably. What should we do about it?” When she offered no suggestions, he murmured, “Perhaps inside of you?”

     “No! I can’t… I can’t get pregnant.”

     His hips jerked, perhaps at the thought of her swollen and carrying his child, and his hand closed around her eager grip, halting her progress. He curled his other hand around her neck and tilted her face with his thumb, pressing a kiss to her lips. “I know. What about here?”

     “My mouth?” Her pulse thrummed in approval—what a delightfully filthy suggestion.

     He groaned, tortured. “Spirits, _yes._ ”

     Wondering how he’d taste, she started to sink to her knees, but she was abruptly hauled back to her feet before she could even get started.

     “Someone’s coming,” Tarrlok hissed in explanation. Leaving her against the door, he moved away and suddenly laughed. “And, regretfully, it’s not me.”

     It was such a crude joke, and so unlike him to utter one, and Korra joined him in laughter, smoothing her dress back into place. Still slightly inebriated and reeling from his declaration of love for her, she only laughed harder when she heard him collide with something and mutter a curse. Light flooded the hallway, and they looked over each other to ensure that nothing was out of place. Tarrlok stroked her cheeks, dissipating the last visible evidence of her orgasm with his bloodbending.

     Korra poked his bulging groin, which wasn’t completely concealed under his trousers, and he swatted her hand away. “It can’t be helped, but bothering with it won’t fix it.”

     “Bothering with what, exactly?” Bolin asked, appearing with Mako and Asami in tow.

     Tarrlok had spun around to face his office door, inserting his key in the keyhole, apparently in the process of locking it. He rattled it noisily. “My office lock. I think someone tried to force their way through it. My key tends to stick, but, like I was telling the Avatar, bothering with it won’t fix it; I’ll need to have it fixed.”

     Korra was astounded at the councilman’s smooth recovery, at his cool façade under a possible disaster. She approached her friends, becoming painfully aware of the stickiness between her thighs. It was uncomfortable.

     “I’ll retrieve you for the task force’s first mission, Avatar,” Tarrlok said to her retreating back. “Do enjoy the rest of your evening, and—may I make a recommendation?”

     She paused at the top of the staircase and warily glanced back at him. “…Yeah?”

     “Try some of the cuisine before you go; I think you’ll like it. Actually, I had the most delicious dish a short while ago, this Southern Water Tribe delicacy. I can’t wait to have more.”

     He lifted his slick middle finger to his lips. The insinuation was certainly not lost on her.


	3. Cloaked in Sin

> _“The mighty Avatar taken down by the mere touch of man,”_ he sneered, taking control of her chin with his index finger and thumb. He neared her until the nose of the mask brushed her own. _“Such a helpless expression. It’d be a simple thing to take your bending from you right now.”_

     “How do you always know I’m nearby?” Korra grunted, pinned against the alleyway wall by Tarrlok. She’d been attempting to follow him after he left City Hall that night, but he’d ambushed her before they even left the block.

     He paused, contemplating how to answer the question. On the breeze, he whispered, “Bloodbending,” leaving it at that. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be preparing for your duel with Amon?”

     “I don’t have to prepare for that,” she retorted. “In one hour from now, he won’t be capable of making threats.”

     “Such arrogance. But you didn’t answer my question. Why are you here—following me?”

     Tarrlok wasn’t sure how to interpret her inability to meet his eyes and her vehement refusal to answer his question, but he knew better than to push her. Instead, he pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “If you’re looking for a quick thrill, I’m afraid it’ll have to be after your duel. I need to meet with the police so we can keep our reckless Avatar safe, should anything go wrong.”

 _My reckless Avatar_ , he inwardly amended as he looked upon her moonlit form with half-lidded eyes. _Breathtaking._

     Korra traced his armored shoulder with a finger; he was still dressed in his task force uniform from their mission that night. “Nothing will go wrong. As I said before, I’m not afraid of Amon.”

     “Always fearless in the face of danger.” He smiled and indulged in another soft brush of their lips before pulling away. “I expect nothing less from you.”

* * *

     “Challenging me will become your greatest mistake.”

     Korra was shoved against the wall by a dark form, whose large hands dug into her arms as he yanked them behind her back. She writhed and fought against his unrelenting form as he crushed her, holding her firmly in place while winding a thin rope around her wrists, which were gathered at the small of her back.

     Somehow, he managed to finish knotting the rope, leaving his hands free to wander. “I must say, Avatar—I’ve never wanted you more.”

     She stiffened under him, her cheek tingling with a creeping bruise. Menacingly, she hissed, “Let me go.”

     He only chuckled at that, sliding his hands down her arms with a gentleness that sharply contrasted his earlier treatment of her. Once he reached her bound wrists, his hands separated and made a detour, possessively curling around her hips. He hauled her back so he could grind his clothed erection against her, leaving no question of how he wanted her.

     “Stop!” Before she could twist around, one of his arms came up and slammed against her spine, pinning her upper body to the wall. The breath was knocked out of her lungs.

     Her demand was once again ignored as the hand on her hip snaked its way up into her sleeveless top. His nails lightly scraping against her toned abdomen wrenched a shudder from Korra’s tense form. “ _Relax_ ,” he purred. “You might even enjoy this.”

     She squeezed her eyes shut when the hand reached its destination—the long digits stroked the underside of one of her bound breasts. His other hand was quick to join its companion under Korra’s clothing, releasing her spine from the pressure. He cupped her breasts, squeezing them gently. Leaning over her, he abruptly kicked her booted feet apart, spreading her legs for him, so he could properly press his cock between her thighs.

     Korra wobbled as she adjusted to the new position and squeezed her eyes shut when she felt him tear the bindings from her breasts. Once the strips of cloth were discarded at their feet, the warmth of his palms curled over her, and he squeezed and relished the generous weight. A whimper escaped her when his thumbs found her nipples.

     “How does that feel?” His thumbs traced circles, teasing and gently pinching at her nipples until they pebbled under his ministrations. His answer came immediately; he felt her body jerk, arching back to meet him.

     “Maybe there was another reason you sought me out tonight.” Releasing her and stepping back, taking his heat with him, he sank into the chair behind him. The coldness of his stare was broken only by his aroused, quickened breathing. “I’m waiting— _impatiently_.”

     At his husky tone, feeling chilled without him pressed against her, she finally pushed away from the wall with the aid of her shoulder and turned to face him. Her knees weakened when the sight of the haunting white mask greeted her. Its lips were curled into an eternally mocking smirk, wordlessly taunting her for her weakness. Her eyes were wide, unable to tear away from the shadowy ones that observed her reaction through the eyeholes.

     “Come to me, Avatar,” he ordered, silky and promising pain if she disobeyed any longer. One of his hands lifted and beckoningly patted his lap.

     Mechanically, her feet brought her to the intimidating man, and he seized her by the arm, pulling at her bound wrists and drawing a hiss of pain from behind her gritted teeth. When he jerked her onto his lap, she stumbled and fell, finding herself fully draped over him, with her face buried in the side of his cowl. She had caught a tantalizing glimpse of his strong jaw when she knocked his mask askew.

     He casually righted his mask with a flick of his finger and arranged her over him so he could position himself in the quivering apex of her thighs. He rolled his hips, lewdly imitating what he very much wanted to do to her without the clothing impeding him.

     Korra was paralyzed under his icy stare.

     “The mighty Avatar taken down by the mere touch of man,” he sneered, taking control of her chin with his index finger and thumb. He neared her until the nose of the mask brushed her own. “Such a helpless expression. It’d be a simple thing to take your bending from you right now.”

     The nightmarish mask swam in her vision long after she squeezed her eyes shut against the telltale prickle of tears. She turned her face away from him to hide her anguish, hating that he had the ability to terrify her when nothing else could. “You wouldn’t.”

     “I’d tell you not to tempt me, but… it’s far too late for that.”

     Korra’s thighs were trembling, spread widely over his lap as she balanced atop his cock. One of his hands gripped the hem of her top and peeled it up and over her breasts, baring them to the cold air. He bunched up the fabric at her collarbone, leaving her exposed. She hissed, ashamed, when his eyes flicked between her dark, erect nipples. An attempt to escape his lap had him wrapping a steadying hand around her forearm.

     Abruptly, his free hand dove into her pants and cupped her pussy, fondling her and wrenching a stifled cry from her throat. After a few moments of teasing her wet folds, he withdrew his hand. His fingers glistened under the dim lamplight, slick with her tormented arousal. He pushed the mask up just enough to expose his lips. With a deliberate slowness of a man enjoying a succulent dessert, he licked his fingers clean. He wrapped his lips around each digit and erotically sucked them, unaware of the fascinating shift of emotion flying across Korra’s face.

     She couldn’t tear her eyes away as the man tasted her. She was quick to outrage and embarrassed horror, but, as he gave a racy show of it, expressing how much he enjoyed the way she tasted, she wondered how that dexterous tongue would feel buried inside of her.

     With a final soft smack of his lips, parting from his thoroughly damp fingers, he adjusted his mask over his face. “Would you like to taste me? The thought of you on your knees—with those lovely lips wrapped around me—is so tantalizing to imagine.”

     Her eyes widened further, his suggestive words sending a tremor of heat through her.

     “It’s written all over your face. Such a naughty Avatar.”

 _Spirits, how is he so unaffected?_ She inwardly vowed, though she had no experience in pleasuring a man with her mouth, to see him lose control and hear him groan her name. She made to slide down and kneel at his feet, but his hands dug into her, halting her in the attempt.

     “Soon,” he promised, the fiendish smile audible in his voice. “I would rather watch you suck me after I’ve made you _come_ —when I’m _dripping_ with your sweet juices.”

     Korra exhaled shakily, her lust multiplying exponentially. His mind was even more perverse than she believed—maybe even more than her own. She couldn’t imagine saying such wicked things with seductive nonchalance. No, she imagined herself stammering, unable to coax a man into sexual submission with just her words. But he was cool and confident—a man of obvious experience. It was _such_ a turn-on, but, at the same time, it ignited her with flames of jealousy.

     “Stand,” he ordered, breaking through her thoughts.

     She scrambled to comply, stumbling slightly in her eagerness.

     “Turn around and bend over for me.”

     Again, she obeyed, shivering in anticipation and turning her back on him. She didn’t have to wait long to learn what his intention was; his fingers hooked into her pants and undergarments and yanked them down her hips to her calves. There was a pause as she felt his admiring eyes burning into her, as he fumbled to release his cock with a rustle of cloth.

     “ _Sit_.”

     There it was—the tiniest hint of desperation.

     It was tempting to resist, to continue the game, but Korra’s dark fantasy demanded to be fulfilled. She turned and straddled his lap as best as she could with the clothing wound around her calves threatening to trip her, with her numb arms still tied behind her back.

     He eased her down with his hands atop her curvy hips, nudging at her dripping entrance. With no warning and in one smooth thrust, he shoved himself inside of her. Biting back a yelp, she tensed at his intrusion. Her chest heaved with her heavy panting as she waited for her body to stretch around him, and she squeezed her eyes shut at the pain, curling inward on herself and hiding beneath the locks of hair that had escaped her wolf tail.

     “Breathe, Avatar,” he advised hoarsely. It was obvious in the strain of his voice that he wanted to pound into her without abandon, but he resisted, teasing her open with shallow thrusts so that her walls slowly embraced—rather than strangled—him.

     The process was slow, almost frustratingly so, but her body eventually gave into his gentle coaxing. Her eyes flew open when something inside of her gave, allowing him smooth entry. She sank down on him, arching her back, her head falling back in bliss. He was _so_ deep inside.

     The masked man cupped her hips and encouraged her to move, to lift from his lap and then impale herself with his cock. They both stifled their respective moans at the wet, tight perfection, at the lewd slap of skin. She felt him strike a spot deep inside her that sent her soul sky-high, and her toes curled in her boots.

     Before long, she was controlling the pace, enthusiastically riding him, while he sat back and enjoyed the visual with half-lidded eyes: the bounce of her ample breasts; the ecstasy etched into her expression; seeing his rigid member disappearing inside of her and reappearing with a sheath of her free-flowing juices.

     He soon forgot the purpose for the rendezvous— _role-play._

     It was no secret that there was a darker side within Korra, for she’d come to him with unusual requests in the past. There was nothing wrong with bringing something extra to their sexual activities if it provided a new and exciting perspective. Even he could admit that he had his own fetishes and longed to introduce them, and he could appreciate that Korra often enjoyed blurring the line between pain and pleasure, terror and arousal.

     “ _Amon!_ ” She sounded positively drunk on arousal.

 _That_ —that severely tested his limits.

     He thought he could handle enacting her fantasy, but he was wrong. It was, in actuality, excruciating torture, and in no way was he being dramatic.

     Tarrlok staggered under the weight of his discomfort, and he bit down on his lip until the skin broke, splashing the sharp tang of his own blood onto his palate. His heart was strangely hollow, though his body was thoroughly content with the sexual deviancy of their act. It was fortunate that he had the mask to hide behind; he was certain that his sickness was obvious.

 _Amon_ —he’d never hated the man more than he did now, watching his lover’s lips form his name while it was _he_ , not Amon, who was positioned under her, bringing her to an explosive release. It’d been a rude awakening, a harsh slap to the face, bringing his mind back from wherever it always disappeared to when he and the Avatar played their erotic game together.

     Where had she even gotten it from? He moodily stewed underneath a very impressive imitation of Amon’s mask. Maybe it really was his mask, perhaps stolen during their duel the previous evening?

     She hadn’t yet turned her back on him, and the sight of her breasts was a refreshingly new experience: two firsts that he couldn’t truly call his own rewards because he technically wasn’t himself in their role-play. He was half-heartedly participating, still hard only because of the nearly nude Avatar perched on his lap, appearing very much astride a darkened cloud of pure euphoria.

     Humiliated—yes; outraged—definitely. Unaroused? If nothing else, he was still a man with a very active sex drive. But his mind was elsewhere, fantasizing about all the ways he would torture Amon to insanity with his bloodbending.

     How dare the Equalist leader have the audacity to occupy his thoughts while he was pumping his hips up against the Avatar’s toned thighs?

     Korra suddenly seemed to sense that he wasn’t as eager as he usually was and paused, cracking her eyes open and letting out a long, shuddering breath as she came down from her sensual high. “Amon—er… um—I mean… Councilman?”

     Tarrlok turned his faraway eyes on her. He licked the blood from his lip and congealed the wound with a flick of his fingers. With a very, _very_ flat tone, he asked, “Yes, Avatar?”

     “…Are you not enjoying yourself?”

     He sighed and lifted a hand to push his cowl back and remove the mask, arranging his features into blankness. “Of course, I’m enjoying myself.”

     It was a partial truth, but, try as he might— _damn him!_ —he couldn’t bar the sarcasm from leaking into his answer. With his mistake, the night was most assuredly ruined.

     Korra could sense sarcasm from miles away, being rather fluent in it, herself. She quickly grew defensive, distant, perhaps becoming aware of how truly depraved the act was in the face of how little he enjoyed their role-play. She lifted from his lap, letting his cock pop out of her with an awkwardly slick noise. With her brow quirked in the annoyance of a lost orgasm, she turned, presenting her aching wrists to him.

     “You should’ve said something sooner,” she bit out, her pride swelling obnoxiously to fill the space. “You played the role well enough. Had _me_ fooled that you were enjoying the illusion of being Amon.”

     ‘Well enough’—the greatest understatement he’d heard in a long time; he’d nearly made the unshakable Avatar cry because he briefly tricked her into thinking he was Amon, contemplating whether to take her bending from her or not.

     “You asked me to do it, so I did,” he retorted. Enjoying being that deluded tyrant—an utterly ridiculous notion. All he’d wanted was to indulge her latest fantasy, and he’d nearly become blinded to his role until she moaned Amon’s name and sharply reminded him.

     How could she use his blatant desire to please her against him? How much more did he have to give to her before she realized that he was completely hers? He’d given nearly everything to her already, but it seemed like it was never enough.

     That night felt like punishment, but he couldn’t fathom why he’d need to be punished. Maybe it was because he wasn’t the man she _really_ wanted? Being second-best to Amon tore a deep gash within him; it was irritating his other ones, which had faded over time since his childhood but were slowly reopening.

     Would he ever be good enough for anyone?

     Tarrlok dutifully untied his handy work. The knot would’ve been nothing for the Avatar to break through with a flex of her arms—or burn or cleave through. He was the furthest thing from a chi-blocker, and, even if he’d been skilled in the art of chi-blocking, Korra was—and would’ve been—still fully capable of bending. He didn’t bother to point that out, knowing that it would surely annoy her further. Instead, he released her, watching as she rubbed the feeling back into her numb limbs.

     Sagging in his chair, he suddenly felt like apologizing. Unlike hers, his pride could no longer muster the urge to rear its ugly head. Not anymore—not after masquerading as his most hated enemy to thrill his lover. Feeling disembodied, his voice unrecognizable to his own ears, he murmured, “I’m sorry, Avatar. I… didn’t mean to ruin the night for you.”

     His words did nothing but make her grow more cross with him. Even if he couldn’t see her face, he could see the way she visibly tensed before him, righting her clothing with jerky movements. He swallowed against a lump in his throat and tucked himself, with some difficulty, under the charcoal coat that was disgustingly similar in style to Amon’s own preference.

     Korra snatched up her tattered breast bindings and fur wrap, which had been discarded long ago on the desk, and stalked to the door. She left him in the darkness of both his office and his mind, and only once she’d disappeared from his range of awareness did he shoot to his feet, seize the infernal mask, and heave it with a powerful thrust of his arm. It connected with the far wall and landed, still in one piece, smirking mockingly up at his loss of control.

     Tarrlok dropped into his chair and covered his face with his hands so he didn’t have to look at it.

     It was disturbing how much power a simple inanimate object contained. Or, rather, it was disturbing how much power they allowed it to contain.


End file.
